What happened in between
by Tol Eressea
Summary: The title summarizes this tale well it goes through Javert's adventures that aren't recounted in Les Miserables. Turns out he had some interesting adventures! Rated T due to some very mild sexual content
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Welcome friends, to the world of France in the early 1800s. This tale is Javert-centric, so if you're not a fan, you may not like this tale. Then again, maybe you will. Try it out!**

As Inspector Javert left the room where Sister Simplice had been praying, it occurred to him that she could have lied about seeing anyone. No, he thought. Nuns, and especially that nun, are well known for telling the truth. But then where was Valjean?

Javert got slowly into a waiting carriage. The four policemen who had come with him looked at him for directions. He gazed out at the foggy night. Somewhere out there, he thought, a convict is escaping the arm of the law. He gripped his policeman's baton tightly. That shouldn't happen! Suddenly he noticed that the others were looking at him. He gave a slight sigh.

"Return to the station!" he barked. 'You, sergeant, make plans to return here tomorrow to inspect the room."

The carriage started off. No one talked for about a minute, than the other policemen began to talk about what they would do that night. Javert continued to look out the window, thinking about what Valjean might do, and where he'd go. Chances were that he would go to Paris: Paris is a haven for people who were trying to hide. The only thing he had to do now was actually get transferred to Paris. Now that Valjean was gone from Montreuil-sur-mer, there was no point in staying. M. Chabouillet got Javert his first job, and perhaps he would help him again.

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Monsieur Chabouillet was glad that the Police Inspector Phillipe Javert wanted to come to Paris: Javert was a well respected officer in Paris. He was committed to his job, and never asked for slack. Chabouillet glanced at the schedule a secretary had written out, and saw that Javert was coming today.

There's no doubt as to what I should give him to do, though Chabouillet. Mademoiselle Thorbeau has given us troubles for long enough. Let's see how well her charms stand up to Javert.

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Javert walked quickly up the steps into the Prefecture de Police. He entered the prefecture and went through the small entrance hallway to M. Chabouillet's door. He reached for the knob, than paused and gave two sharp raps. It never hurts to make a good impression, he thought. After a few moments, the door opened and Chabouillet stood behind it. They both paused, than Chabouillet began:

"You must be _l'inspecteur_ Javert," he said.

Javert bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I am he," he said.

"I have heard only good things about you," said Chabouillet. 'Please; come in." He gestured Javert inside.

They went inside. Chabouillet sat behind a large desk covered in papers, and Javert stood in front of him. Chabouillet gestured for him to sit down. Javert sat down on a high backed chair and gazed steadily at Chabouillet. He must have something hard to give me, he thought. Otherwise he would've just gone over the details and sent me away.

"Inspector," said Chabouillet, "I have an…interesting job for you to do. There's a criminal I want you to catch." He held out his hands to stop Javert from interrupting him. "Now, I know you're looking for your Valjean, but…"

"No," interrupted Javert. "I mean, yes, I'm looking for Valjean, but I expected you to give me jobs. I'm not devoting my entire life just to one miscreant."

"That's good to know," he said. "But let me continue. The person I'm talking about goes by the name of Nicole de Thorbeau. We've caught her before but she's, ah, good at escaping. Right now I'm relatively sure where he is. Unlike other criminals, she makes no attempt at hiding herself. I believe she had many friends in the police force."

"Ah, and since I'm new here you know she hasn't gotten to me," said Javert.

Chabouillet hid a smile. "Yes," he said. "That's it."

Normally Javert would have caught his inner smile, but he didn't that Chabouillet would hide something like that. He thought for a moment more, than said, "So, where is it that Ma'mselle Thorbeau is at the moment?"

So he's not as observant as I thought, thought Chabouillet. He didn't catch my withholding of information. It's not entirely his fault, though. He has no reason to suspect anything. "She lives in the neighborhood of St. Rochelle," he said. "You don't have to go undercover to see her. Chances are she won't mind when you arrest her."

"Who should I take with me?" This has got to be the strangest assignment, thought Javert.

"Ahm, you don't need anyone, unless you'd like to bring one person along for comfort's sake. She'll most likely come along quietly."

"Well, I'll bring someone who can point her out to me."

"Inspector," said Chabouillet. "Sorry for thrusting this work on you, but I thought you'd be the man for the job. Mademoiselle Thorbeau has evaded us for so long that I took the opportunity to get a skilled officer to finally catch her."

"May I ask something?" asked Javert.

"Of course."

"What did she do? That is, what got her into prison in the first place?"

"Well," said Chabouillet, "it began as a simple crime, at least in comparison to others: she committed treason against the Republic. She was sentenced to two years in prison, but after a year she escaped. After a few months she was recaptured, and sentenced to two more years along with the one year she hadn't served yet. As you might guess, she escaped, and was caught a few months after. This happened again and again, and by now she has to spend the rest of her life in prison."

"As well she should" he said. "You can count on me."

Chabouillet stood up. "Well, I'm glad, Inspector. If you ever need anything, don't be afraid to ask. I'm glad you're willing to do this."

As Chabouillet stood, Javert did likewise. 'Very good sir," he said. "I shall start post-haste." He gave a slight bow and left the room.

This 'de Thorbeau' _will_ be caught, thought Javert, and she will stay caught. If I must, I will guard her myself as long as necessary. Chabouillet didn't say it outright, but I'm sure she's used her womanly wiles to get out of jail. Javert frowned, and began writing out a warrant for Nicole de Thorbeau's arrest. Only one woman had gotten the best of Javert before, and he was determined that it wouldn't happen before.

Javert had been a young man when he fell in love. He didn't like to talk about it, since it was an embarrassing time. That was why women's pleas didn't affect him. His heart was closed off and hard as stone.

Oftentimes this happens to people. Everyone reacts differently to tragedies and hardships in their life. Both Javert and Valjean shut themselves off from their emotions after their respective tragedies. When Jean Valjean left the prison as a free man, his heart was hardened to the world. His troubles were only solved by the intervention of the bishop of Digne, and then the entry of Cosette into his life. He became a different man after that, after the light entered his life. But Javert was still in the dark. Nothing in his life had ever come in easily, and nothing had ever redeemed him for his troubles. Not that he needed s reward for being an officer of the law. It was inherent in him to do the work of the law, and he needed no rewards for that.

But sometimes he looked back on his life and wondered if there was not some force working against him and giving him the worst lot. Javert looked down on criminals, yet during his childhood he was in the same boat (so to speak) as them. The difference was that he chose the path of what he believed was right. But every choice he made had its consequences. Though he protected the citizens of France, no one was grateful. On the contrary, they mocked him and even insulted him for chasing after criminals. He had even heard other officers mocking him for chasing after Valjean so determinedly. In Javert's eyes, they didn't understand where he was coming from. Catching Valjean was a matter of principle. It wasn't who Valjean was, for the most part, but what he represented. He represented the criminal element, especially the ones who continued to evade the law, just like this Nicole de Thorbeau. **(A/N- The preceding two paragraphs are a mild imitation of Victor Hugo's manner of rambling for about 200 pages)**

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The next day Javert headed to the neighborhood of Saint Rochelle with a policeman he brought along 'just in case'. St. Rochelle was a dirty, depressing place. It was a haven for much of the criminal element. Many of the buildings were falling down, and he thought he saw more than one familiar face from the jail. Though the temptation was strong to give chase to them, they noticed him coming and usually left into the nearest building quickly, and anyway, he had another reason for coming here.

Javert got to an intersection at the end of the street. To the left the street ended after a few houses, and to the right he saw a woman leaning against a wall, her arms crossed and her eyes closed with her head tilted up. Javert turned to the policeman hovering behind him. "I'm assuming that's her?" he asked quietly. The officer nodded. Javert walked forward cautiously. She appeared to not notice him. He stood in front of her. Suddenly she spoke.

"So you found me," she said.

"It wasn't too hard," Javert said. "You're under arrest, and this time you won't manage one of your miraculous escapes." Or he assumed they seemed miraculous.

Nicole opened her eyes. Javert was startled by their bright green color, accentuated by her pale face. 'What's you name, monsieur?" she asked.

He took out a pair of handcuffs. "This will go easier if you don't struggle," he said.

She laughed. "Don't worry. I've gone through this enough time to know what to do."

When Javert put the cuffs on Nicole, she didn't move a finger. At one point he saw her give a slight smile to the policeman by Javert. He noticed it and asked, "Do you know him?"

"Oh," she said. "He was one of my guards the last time I was at the Madelonnettes. He was quite nice, as I recall." She looked at the officer. "You name's Benoit, right?"

The policeman grinned. "Yes, that's my name," he said. "It's nice to know that you remembered me."

"You're hard to forget."

"Yes, well, I hate to break up the reunion but Mademoiselle here needs to get to the carriage," said Javert. "Sooner than later would be nice."

The officer nodded, embarrassed, and they headed to where their carriage was waiting. Javert walked behind Nicole, and Benoit walked next to Nicole. The officer said something quietly to Nicole, and she nodded. Javert had already come to the conclusion that the man he had brought with him had helped Nicole escape before. Even before they had talked with her he had suspected it—there must have been a reason that he actually volunteered to help Javert in the capture. What would happen this time?

**Reviews greatly appreciated. Hate? Love? _Merci et au revoir_!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Whew! These chapters will give me carpal tunnel. Anyway, here's chapter 2 for you. Thanks to Lady Eponine for reviewing!**

Within a week, Nicole had escaped again. No one was surprised, and just took it in stride. Javert, on the other hand, was furious that she had managed to escape. He had interviewed the guards, even secured the firings of some people, however it was all for naught.

M. Chabouillet had been surprisingly congenial about the escape. He had expected her to get out the first time, and it showed Javert just who he was dealing with. He had spoken with Javert and reassured him that he would not, in fact, fire him for this. Javert was not comforted.

"I should have been more cautious," said Javert. "I didn't think the stories of her virtually undetected escapes were true."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Inspector," Chabouillet said. "I appreciate your fervor, but she's beaten some of our best men. If you wish to be reassigned to a more regular post, I can do that."

Javert sighed. "No," he said, "I won't give up just yet. Give me one more chance. This time, if worst comes to worst I'll guard her myself."

Chabouillet reluctantly allowed him to continue, and Javert returned once more to the St. Rochelle neighborhood, this time alone. He considered going plain-clothed, then changed his mind. He had gone there so recently that they would most likely remember him from before and not be fooled.

He left the fiacre with the driver guarding it in the same place he has left it before. This time Javert looked closely at the faces around him. Chances were that she hadn't attempted to disguise herself, but it never hurt to make sure. He looked down a short alleyway, and didn't see her, so he began to continue down the street. Suddenly he felt someone grab him from behind and pull in into the alley. He didn't shout out, because no one, because no one would come to help him.

Javert was thrown to the ground, his face facing the broken pavement. He turned over to see his attacker, and the man put his foot on Javert's chest.

"For your safety, Inspector Javert, I would suggest that you stop chasing my sister," said the man.

"I assume you're speaking of Mademoiselle de Thorbeau," Javert said calmly, ignoring the anxiety that had unconsciously bubbled up.

"Of course I am, you impudent fool," he said. "Now listen to me. No matter where you are, I will know the place. When you're least expecting it, I will come. Stop chasing her, while you value your life."

How clichéd, thought Javert involuntarily. "Might I inquire as to the name of my threatener?" he asked.

The man leaned down and slapped Javert. "That's for your impudence," he said. "But I'll gladly tell you my name: Panchaud. Do not forget me, _Inspecteur_. If you take Ma'mselle de Thorbeau to jail, your life will be severely shortened.

Panchaud took his foot off Javert's chest, than kicked him. Javert winced slightly and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, he saw a figure standing at the entrance to the alleyway. Seeing the person, Javert stood up hastily and walked to them. As he got closer, he saw that it wasn't Panchaud like he had thought, but Nicole.

He stood directly in front of her. "Ah, so it's you," he said. "I've just been told not to capture you."

"Fine, then, don't take me," said Nicole. "I'll just go with you willingly." She paused. "By the way, I apologize for my brother's behavior. He's one of the bad criminals."

"There can be no distinction between 'good' or 'bad' criminals. Their title of 'criminal' implies that they are bad, ergo it is hypocritical to call one of you good, and it is repetitive to call you bad. I will grant you that some criminals are worse than others, but this is true for all descriptions. There are some better politicians than others."

"There are some policemen better than others." She laughed. "But your rejection of 'good' and 'bad' is wrong. The word 'criminal' is a word used to describe people who break the law. But whether you follow the law or not does not define if you are a good or bad person. I, for instance, have broken the law. I openly admit this, because while many laws are just, there are some that most certainly are not. But such is human nature. We are flawed, there's no getting around that. That is why I believe in the spirit, not the letter of the law. Society does not _need_ laws, but we need to understand that the laws that are made are not perfect."

"You're being rather hypocritical today," said Javert. "Now, from what I understand of this argument of yours, you're saying both that people should follow the law, and yet not follow it. How can you take the law in moderation? You can't accept some of the rules and ignore the others—you can't pick and choose which ones are right and which are wrong. That is, unless you are either a king or another person with the power to revoke laws. And anyway, what does the righteousness of laws have to do with criminals?"

"Because they are the ones most affected by the faulty system," she said. "And since I believe that it is, in fact, faulty, that brings me back to the concept of a 'good' or 'bad' criminal. Some of the laws that are in place now are wrong, and since there are flaws in the system, you cannot judge a person by it. And that is why I originally said that Panchaud was a bad criminal. He is a criminal, and he is a bad person. However, there are people who break the law who are, by nature, good people. Had they not broken the law, you probably would have argued with that interpretation of them. What right does the law have to damn a person for life?"

"Being a citizen of a country says that you must follow its laws. No country can be based on anything other than human laws, so that is the best we can have. If you don't agree with the rules set down by France's leaders, then leaves." He pointed his finger behind her to the street.

Suddenly Nicole laughed. "Ah, Javert, Javert," she said, "Maybe you should have been a politician." She paused. "Oh, wait; you couldn't do that if you wanted to, because of La Republique." She said 'republique' like it was a poisonous thing.

"Watch your mouth, girl," he said. "You're under arrest. Now I know you'll come quietly, and believe me, I appreciate that. But this time, if worst does indeed come to worst, I shall guard your cell myself."

Nicole held out her hands with her wrists together in preparation for being handcuffed. "Just do what you need to do, Inspector. It makes no difference to me. See, like you, I am willing to die for what I believe in, though I have a different way of going about it."

Worst did in fact come to worse. After a week Javert found himself doing guard duty, something he hadn't done for at least eight years. Nicole would occasionally try to start a conversation with him, but Javert would never respond. Then one day she asked him a question he couldn't ignore.

"Inspector, have you ever been in love?" asked Nicole when Javert passed by her cell.

Javert topped suddenly and looked at her, horrified. "What did you say?" he asked, stuttering. His first impulse was to think that she was trying to give him a distraction, so he have the hall a quick sweep with his eyes. Everything seemed normal, so he went back to the question at hand.

"In love. Have you ever loved a woman?" Nicole said. "Or a man, whatever floats your boat." She winked.

"A man?" said Javert, once more horrified. "What sort of man would like another man?"

"You sound rather paranoid, Inspector," said Nicole. "But forget me asking that. Have you been love, already?"

"Ro…" Javert began. Then he caught himself. "In love? Don't be a fool. No, don't be a fool." He began to walk away stiffly.

"Wait, what did you say before that?" Nicole called after him. "I didn't catch that name."

Javert walked backed to her cell and gripped the bars. "I _didn't_ say a name," he said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then why are you so defensive about it?" Nicole asked sweetly.

With no response, Javert walked away again. This woman has no right to talk to me like that, he thought. Then he sighed. They had called her the_ bouton de rose_, a rosebud, when Javert had known Rose. And everyone loved her. To know Rose was to love her.

A month passed, and Nicole was still in prison. The surprising thing was that Javert hadn't done guard duty for her for the past two weeks. It was both a surprise and a relief to Javert. He was surprised she hadn't escaped again, and relieved that he wouldn't have to guard her.

On one late October afternoon, Raoul Pontmercy had a friendly argument with Inspector Javert. Policemen had been coming to Raoul with some frequency now. They insisted that he give up the title of Baron, but he refused. This time it was Javert's turn to persuade him.

"Monsieur," said Javert, "why must you persist in calling yourself an incorrect title? Why does it really matter that you're not a baron?"

"Ah, _Inspecteur_, don't you understand?" Raoul said. "I _am _a baron. I was awarded that title by Napoleon himself. So how can you dispute my claim?"

"Napoleon is not in power any more, monsieur. You know that as well as I do. We need to break away from the past and look towards the future."

"But _Inspecteur_, we need to respect the past and understand its worth and value. If you don't believe in the past, than you will go nowhere in the future." He gave a puppy look with his big old brown eyes, than gestured to the scar on his face. "You see this, _Inspecteur_?" he said. "This is the most visible reason of why I won't abandon my title. I earned it on Waterloo, and by God, I deserved it. Do you understand me, at least?"

"Yes," said Javert. "I understand you. I don't agree with you, but I understand what you're saying. You say that I don't believe the past, but that is not so. I'm saying that past is past. You can't change what has already happened."

"But that doesn't mean that you can't remember and honor the past."

"You can indeed remember and…honor the past, but you shouldn't try to relive it. Not looking towards the future won't get you anywhere, believe me," Javert said. "You will fail if you lose yourself in memories."

"Do you even follow that yourself?" asked Raoul. "Who does not wish that some aspect of the past was still happening? Yes, it's already occurred, but even you yourself said that the past should be honored. That means that I should still be called a baron. You weren't granted the title of 'Inspector' today, so therefore it is in the past. So does that mean you shouldn't be called by that name?"

"No, because the people that elevated me to that rank are still in power."

"But does that really matter? In the long run, does it truly matter who's controlling the government?"

"Of course it will," said Javert, shocked.

"Are you sure?"

**More fun random yet important conversations next chapter as well as plot development and fun stuff like that! I love reviews!**


	3. Chapter 3

Raoul's argument had stuck with Javert. Does the past really matter? Does the past affect the future, other than in the obvious ways? What if…no, the past is past, it doesn't matter any more. No, dwelling on what had already happened gets you absolutely nowhere. Learn from the past, and leave it behind. That's it. Don't cling to the have-beens, or you won't get the will-bes.

Two months passed by, and Nicole continued to be locked away. Neither Javert nor Chabouillet even heard a rumor of an attempted escape. One day in early January, Javert made an inspection of the jail. He stopped at Nicole's jail cell. She was sitting on her bed (which had a pathetic excuse for a mattress, it being perhaps an inch thick), leaning against the stone wall.

"I'm glad I don't have to be chasing after you again," said Javert. "It was a bit of a trouble."

"Well I'm glad I relieved you of the inconvenience," Nicole said. "More time to see your love now that you're not looking for me, hmm?"

"No!" exclaimed Javert, startled. He began to walk away, but Nicole stopped him.

"Wait, I'm sorry," she said. "That was mean of me. But I'd really like to know. That is, I understand that I'm just a lowly criminal, but can't you admit what you're thinking to at least one person? It's not good to lock things up inside yourself. If you do, it just festers inside yourself. Please, understand, I want to get to know you more. I don't know you very well, and I want to change that."

"You said it yourself. You are a criminal; I am an officer of the government. With me trying to keep you locked up, there's no reason for me to just let you know everything about me," he said. "So just let it go, all right? I don't need or want to tell you anything."

"Can't you just tell me one thing about yourself? I won't mock you about it, I swear."

"That's not the issue." Seeing that she would persist in querying him, he said, "But, depending on what you want to know, I may be able to tell you."

"Just tell me one thing. Have you ever been in love? You don't even need to tell me if it's a past or present thing, just if you have."

Javert shook his head disapprovingly. "Why are you so damned curious?" he asked, then left. Seeing his expression as he left, an officer ran to Nicole's cell. Nicole had crossed her arms and closed her eyes, smiling.

"What'd you make him say?" asked the officer eagerly. "Tell all, tell all."

Nicole slowly opened her eyes, the smile fading away. "Oh, nothing, she said happily. "I think I'll get him. Actually, I'm sure of it."

"I don't know, Nicole," he said. "Javert…he's a tough nut to crack. From what I know of him, he'd never help a criminal to escape the long arm of the law, no matter how pretty the prisoner may be."

"But if he falls in love with her? What then?"

Javert was exceedingly uncomfortable. M. Chabouillet had put together a dinner for some of the higher ranked officers, and he had brought his very pretty, very arrogant wife Mme. Chabouillet along. Currently she was talking to one of the officers, blatantly flirting with him. It amazed Javert that she could be as impudent as to do that in front of her husband.

As Mme. was talking, she paused and noticed Javert, who had chosen to back away hidden and unnoticed into a corner of the room. He would much rather be patrolling, or even doing guard duty at the jail. But, to his horror, he saw Mme. walking towards him.

She stood in front of him and crossed her arms, not saying anything. A bit confused, he bowed slightly and said, "Madame."

"You are Inspector Philippe," she said. It was not a question, but a statement.

Javert bowed again slightly. "Inspector Javert, at your service," he said, emphasizing the 'Javert'. He did not appreciate anyone referring to him by his first name.

She held out her hand to shake his. "Nice to meet you," she said. He shook her hand. She gripped his hand tightly, and when he released her hand, there was a key in his. He looked at her quizzically.

In response to his look, she leaned towards him and said in a hushed voice, "Hôtel de Ville. Meet me at 11. Room 104. I'll be alone, never fear."

Javert backed away, but hit the wall. "Ah, Madame, I, ah, could never do that," he said nervously. "Ah, I'm sorry; I have to go, madam. I'm sorry."

He hastily moved to the side and headed towards the door. M. Chabouillet, seeing him leaving, called, "Leaving so soon, Javert? Dinner hasn't even begun."

His hand on the doorknob, Javert turned to Chabouillet and said, "I apologize, but I just remembered that I have a meeting with someone. Sorry for forgetting."

Then, to the slight confusion of Chabouillet, Javert bent to the ground and appeared to put something there. Once done, he stood up, nodded his head to the group, and left.

"Well, that was strange," said Mme. Chabouillet, coming up behind M. Chabouillet. "It seems like he was hiding something." She walked to the door and, feigning complete surprise, bent down and picked up a key. "Oh, look at this! It's a key! And it says 104 on it. Isn't that our room number?" she asked, turning to Chabouillet.

'Why, yes, it is," he said. He took the key from her and looked at it closely, than checked his pocket. Not finding it at first, he began to frantically pat all his pockets to see if his key was there. Finally he looked up at all the officers, who were watching him, then looked at the key.

A moment passed, and they all looked at the door that Javert had just left from. "I think I need to talk to Javert for a second," said Chabouillet. "Excuse me for…a second."

With that, he left. The officers all looked at each other. The same thing was going through all their minds: _Javert?! _It was unimaginable. Mme. Chabouillet simply smiled.

Javert walked quickly out of the building and looked around to find a fiacre. There were done in sight, so he began to walk back to his flat.

Then he heard a voice behind him. "Javert!" said Chabouillet. Javert spun around.

"Monsieur!" he said. "What is it you want to ask?"

Chabouillet paused. "Well, I wanted to know if you took this from me." He held up the key.

Javert started at seeing the key. "No, I didn't take it from you. I'm sorry, but why are you asking me this in the first place?"

"Well, after you left, I found this key by the door, the key that is, incidentally, the one that leads to the room where my wife is staying. When I found it, I discovered that my own key had gone missing." He looked at Javert pointedly.

"I can't imagine how that happened," said Javert blandly.

Chabouillet sighed. "Javert, I'm going to have to put you on probation," he said. "I know that's unpleasant for you, but right now that's the best thing I can do."

For a second it looked as if Javert would talk back to Chabouillet to defend himself. But then he gave a smile, nodded, and said, "As you wish, monsieur."

"Yes, yes," said Chabouillet distractedly. "Good day, Javert."

A note the next day informed Javert that he would be unable to return to the station for a week. This was a huge blow to him—there was nothing he'd rather be doing than being an officer. So, in the spare time that he had gotten, he devoted himself to discovering more about the man who had threatened him; the man who had called himself Panchaud. He was surprised nothing had come up yet—it seemed like a man like that would be fairly busy. But then again, at the moment Javert didn't have the same resources that he usually did.

So he attempted to pass the time so he wouldn't be bored. Then on his last day of probation, someone came knocking on his apartment door.

Javert walked slowly to his door, and opened it about a foot. There stood Mme. Chabouillet. She was dressed demurely in a long cloak, with a hood over her striking blond hair. When Javert opened the door, she pushed past him into his apartment. She looked around—there wasn't much to see—a bed, a small desk—there were no personal items or anything on his desk or lying around. It could've been a hotel room.

She turned to Javert and said, "I had to ask you something. Why didn't you take the key I gave you?"

"Because that seemed dishonorable to M. Chabouillet," said Javert. "I assumed he didn't know about it. And I saw no reason for me to go. Do you see?"

"Yes, I understand," she said. "But why didn't you tell me so? It's not nice to keep a lady waiting."

"I am sorry, but I assumed you knew I wouldn't be coming—I did leave the key behind. After all, that's why I'm on probation now."

"Hmm, that is a shame," she cooed. "You could have come to see me. I was bored too, stuck in this dreadful city. I could've given you things to do."

Javert crossed his arms. "I never said I didn't have something to do," he said, refusing to accept the implications of Mme. Chabouillet's words.

"Why aren't you married, Philippe?" asked Mme. Chabouillet, switching tacks.

Why is everyone interested in my love life? Though Javert, but he said stiffly, "That is _none_ of your business, madam. And please call me Javert. No one refers to me by my first name."

"But Philippe is such a nice name!" she exclaimed. "You should use it more often, Philippe."

"PLEASE do not call me that! It implies familiarity." He fairly spat the word out.

"Why do you have such animosity towards friendship? Everyone needs a friend once in a while."

"No, they don't. Having a friend is as bad as having an enemy. You reveal the vulnerable side of yourself that no one should know. Friends can hurt you much more than anyone else can. No, I don't need a friend. I don't _want_ a friend. They're useless and pointless."

**Poor Javert, having lived his life _sans_ true friendship or any relationship in general. Please review, and maybe I'll be a little nicer to him! _Merci!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: I love reviewers! I shall take all your considerations into account. Thank you for your support. Here's Chapter 4 you.**

When Javert had gotten back to the prefecture, he was put on guard duty, to show that all was not forgiven, ostensibly. So he went back under the scrutiny of Nicole. She continued to try and have him soften to her, but he continued in his brusque manner towards her. However, he became slightly more polite to her, and Nicole took that as a victory. After all, Javert usually treated prisoners with disdain and an element of disgust.

One day Nicole was discussing Javert with Benoit (one of the guards). "Nicole, _ma coeur_, I have a story you'd like to hear about Javert," Benoit said.

"Do tell," Nicole said lazily, lying back in her bed and closing her eyes, ready to listen.

"Well, when our Javert was a young man, he fell in love," he said. "I know, it's Javert. It doesn't sound possible, but I'm almost positive that it's true."

Nicole had sat straight up. "Just go on," she said.

He smiled. "As you wish," he said. "Well, anyway, this love was the daughter of a wealthy man. And Javert…well, he didn't come from the best of families. He also didn't tell her of his feelings, so she never knew, and she ignored him. I think that's why he doesn't really have any friends or lovers—he doesn't trust people to be kind."

"Poor man," said Nicole quietly, though she imagined that an unrequited love was not the only reason for that.

He laughed and stretched. "Not really," he said. "I mean, just because one broad turned him down doesn't mean he should give up on the human race. I mean, no one has it easy. He shouldn't simply assume that everyone is like that. And anyway, you don't work with him. He doesn't have casual conversations with anyone. It's always only what needs to be said, and that's all. It's not like you're talking to a person, it's like you're talking to the law. Or at least, a human version of the law. He's closed in on himself, and lost himself in the law. He's practically not human—he can't be pitied."

"How can you say that?" Nicole cried, and stood up. "You say you can't pity Javert? You can't pity someone who was in the throes of unrequited love? You said yourself that it happens to everyone—then can't you understand his situation? Where is your pathos?"

"But everyone gets over it. He hasn't, apparently. And now he judges everyone by that old, biased standard. That's why I don't pity him. It's impossible to do so."

About an hour later, Javert made his round past Nicole's cell. He had prepared himself for the inevitable bizarre comment, but what Nicole said surprised him, as she seemed to be so adept at doing. "Who is she?" she asked.

He stared at her. "What?" he asked, honestly confused.

"Her name, I mean."

"I truly have no idea what you're talking about."

"Never mind; doesn't matter."

Javert shrugged. "Fine," she said, and began to walk away before Nicole stopped him.

"Inspector," she said. That surprised him: regardless of his insistence, she had always referred to him as Javert. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

He shook his head. "Have you gone mad or something?" he said. "Why are being so obscure? What are you talking about?"

"Inspector: I know."

"Is that so?"

"I heard about you and that girl."

Javert gave a harsh laugh, more of a bark than anything else. "You forget who you are talking to, woman," he said. "I am not one of those men. You know not to whom you speak."

"I heard a story about your childhood recently," said Nicole. "Well, not exactly your childhood…anyway, I heard you were in love with a woman who didn't love you, which was silly of her, don't you think?"

Javert stood stock still, staring at Nicole. When she asked the question, he looked away and pretended like there was something very interesting on the wall. "What are you trying to accomplish by saying this to me?" he said through clenched teeth. "Are you trying to blackmail me or something, you blackguard?"

"No! You misunderstand me!" said Nicole hastily. "I wanted you to know that it's not a secret." She paused. "Wait, you don't deny it?"

Javert shrugged. "If I did deny it, would you believe me? Anyway, I don't need to explain myself to _you_. I mean, look at yourself. You're a convict. You're behind bars, and you're not getting out. You cannot say that Rose was better than me, because you are no better than I. In fact, you're much worse." Then he stopped. He had said her name!

Nicole smiled. "Rose, is it?" she said. "That's a lovely name? Though your train of thought was rather odd, I'm glad you know this. Tell me about her. Where did you meet her? What did she look like? Come on, tell me. I won't say anything to anyone, I promise."

By now Javert was seething with anger. "You are a prisoner! A convict! I do not have these conversations with you. Not with you, not with anyone." He stomped away.

As Nicole expected, Benoit came over to her right after Javert left that hall. However, he looked unusually thoughtful. "I heard what you two were saying to each other. Javert was yelling loud enough for that," he said. "But that's not all. He said the name 'Rose', right?" Nicole nodded. "I'm almost positive I know who he was talking about. He grew up in Paris, I know, and the _bouton de rose _of gay Paree was well known—infamous, in fact. Many called her the most beautiful woman in France."

"Wait, why the past tense?" asked Nicole.

"I'm getting to that! So anyway, to see her was to love her, so I'm not surprised Javert liked her. And I think she was only a little younger than him, so she would be about 25 now. It's a funny thought. Anyway, she probably didn't even know who Javert was. But he never even got a chance, just like everyone else. When she was 18, Rose was kidnapped—by the gypsies, most believe. Everyone was looking for her, but she's disappeared. I think she's probably dead. I mean, I had met her before—she wasn't very nice."

"A cold beauty, as it were?"

"Exactly."

Nicole laughed. "Rose seems like a lucky woman," she said. I can't imagine why she would be cold."

Benoit looked at her thoughtfully. "Really? You remind me of her."

"I don't know why that might be," Nicole said evasively.

Before Javert left for the night, he was leaving a mandatory note for M. Chabouillet when he heard the other officers talking in the other room. Initially he ignored them, until he heard his name.

"And you know about Javert…" someone murmured.

"Do you think he knows…?"

"No. He wouldn't be able to hide it."

"I think Nicole is going to tell."

"What is her thing with him?"

"I think she feels bad about what she did."

Someone laughed. "Nicole? Ha, let me tell you a story about her."

Javert stood up before that person continued. He didn't need or want to hear anything about prisoners, and he didn't like that conversation in the first place. He pushed his chair in noisily, and the voices subsided. There were about six or seven officers in the next room, and they all pretended like they didn't notice him.

As Javert reached his flat, he pushed away the conversation he had heard, and attempted to think on the events of the day. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Panchaud watching him go in the apartment building.

Once in his room, Javert sat at his desk and gave a long sigh. Then he took out a piece of paper, and pen, and ink, and began to write. He had never kept a journal before, but lately writing down his thoughts had been a calming thing to do. He mostly wrote the things he had to do in the future (i.e. "November 4: I have to remember to go the bank tomorrow"), but occasionally he wrote about things that had been troubling him. Tonight he wrote about Rose, and how he had met her.

_Rose's mother had taken her to a poor section of town to feed the people there. I usually avoided that sort of thing. I felt like it demeaned me. But that day I didn't know they would be coming, and I turned down the street where they were. Initially I didn't see Rose, but when I got closer, I thought I had seen an angel._

_I walked up to her, to say something, anything, to her. When she saw him, she laughed and said, "Who do you think you are? You're old enough to work. Don't beg, go get a job."_

_I nodded my head slowly. "Oui, mademoiselle," I think I whispered, not saying that I was already in training to be an officer. With that, I walked away as fast as I could. After that, I would see Rose once in a while around Paris, but I never talked to her. Then one day I worked up the courage to say something to her. I started walking up to her, but at the last minute another man came up to her, said, "Rose," gently, and put his arm around her waist. She laughed and pulled away, but he put his arm around her waist again, and she didn't resist this time: in fact, she rested her head on his shoulder and said a soft word to him._

_Seeing this, I stopped and stood stock still. Rose noticed me, and gave me a sarcastic smile. She mouthed the words, "Have a job yet?" I turned around stiffly and never looked for her again. I had heard stories about her—how she had a tattoo on her waist of a man's name (it was disputed who's name it was), that she was engaged, that she wasn't engaged—rumors flew around her like flies around a pot of honey._

Writing all this down transported Javert away from his room, and he almost didn't hear the knock on his door. He looked up, irritated. No one ever came to his apartment for good reasons. But he got up slowly and went to the door. When he opened it, the last person he expected to see there stood in his doorway: Panchaud.

Panchaud pulled Javert's door open and tried to push Javert over, but Javert managed to step aside. "What sort of game are you trying to pull now, _Inspector_?" said Panchaud, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Why is Nicole still in jail? Why is the police chief's wife coming to visit you? And why are you looking for information about me?"

Javert paused for a moment, than said impassively, "How do you know all these things about me?"

**That is the question, isn't it? I'll try to update the next chapter with some expediency. It's written, I just need to type it up. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

The next day at the prefecture, Javert went straight away to file a report. In talking to Panchaud yesterday, he was sure he discovered this man's true identity. 'I have serious doubts,' he wrote to Chabouillet, 'about the officer Benoit Perot. I have good reason to believe he may be one of the characters we discussed earlier.' They had talked about the officers who were double crossing them through various means.

But Chabouillet's response was not one Javert expected. He called Javert into his office soon after he got Javert's note. The tone of these meeting was much colder than any he had ever experienced with Chabouillet before, and he was frowning as Javert came in and sat down.

"Inspector," he said, "I just read your note. Please explain yourself a bit more. After all, Sergeant Perot is a respected and adept officer of the law."

"He has certain…mannerisms around the convicts," said Javert. "Normally I wouldn't suspect anyone based on a small matter like that, but there's more. I've seen him in deep conversation with Nicole and…"

Chabouillet coughed loudly, interrupting him. "Ahem, Benoit is a man, and Nicole is a woman," he said. "As such, Benoit may have other things in mind than the aiding and freeing of Nicole when he speaks to her."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed Javert. "No self-respecting law protector would do that. You said yourself that Benoit was respectable, so that doesn't follow though. And, once again, that is not all my evidence. I have reason to believe that he goes around Paris under the infamous name of Panchaud. I saw this 'Panchaud' just yesterday, and I'm sure they're the same person. He put on a wig and is trying to act differently, but I would tell by his voice that it was him."

"Come now, Inspector!" Chabouillet laughed. "Surely you're overexaggerating. Benoit cannot be convicted under any of these reasons. Drop your case."

In a back room, Benoit changed out of his Panchaud costume and sat on chair, getting back to his officer personality and clothes. Once in a while it was hard not to revert to his criminal mind, and occasionally spoke harshly. It always surprised people, for Benoit the officer was always jovial and laughing. He had put on this persona to distract people even more from any similarities he may have forgotten to cover up. Nicole hadn't even noticed—that surprised him, but he was grateful for it. She had changed a lot, and there was no telling what would happen if she found out.

He didn't understand what had changed Nicole so much. Before, she had regarded the law as a joke, not something that really mattered. But recently she had been preaching a bit more on the righteousness of the law. What had happened?

At the end of Javert and Chabouillet's conversation, Javert was informed that this would be his last day of guard duty at the prison—the next day he would be back patrolling the streets. That was a huge relief—while on duty, the other officers would always try to engage in conversation with him, and it was always inane topics.

So, thinking, on the happy thought that he was almost done with this tedious task, Javert walked purposefully towards the cells. When he got there, he saw Benoit at Nicole's cell, as usual. When Benoit saw Javert, he slipped away from the cell and went to the end of the hallway.

Javert ignored him and looked in on the prisoners. Some were sleeping on their stone beds, others were staring off into the distance, and some stared at Javert, with expressions varying from boredom to anger. You simply have to see these people, he thought, to understand why we need jails. And these are just the women!

When he got to Nicole's cell, he heard her say, "Where did you grow up? I mean, where did you live as a child?"

Javert stopped. She never failed to surprise him with her questions. "Why, I grew up in Paris," he said. He usually didn't mind Nicole's inquiries—with rare exceptions, they tended to be fairly innocuous.

"Where in Paris?"

He looked away. "Saint Rochelle," he said. He was ashamed to have lived in such a criminal area. But then he hastened to add, "But it was much better then."

"Not really," said Nicole. "I remember it a bit from when I was younger."

"You grew up there?"

"No, but when I lived in Paris I was there a few times. I think I saw you there. And I know…what was her name? Oh yes, it was Rose. She had blond hair, right?" She laughed. "And she's exactly my age. I could be her!" She laughed again.

"Except you look nothing like her!" Javert barked, almost angry, and walked away. In truth, when Nicole had said that, he had thought that she did look remarkably like Rose. But why had she said that? Their looks weren't that similar—Nicole had brown hair, Rose's was blonde, and their figures weren't exactly the same. But then he looked Nicole in the eyes, her green eyes had had the same look Rose had when she looked at the man who ad put his arm around her waist and drawn her close.

After Javert left the corridor where Nicole was, Benoit came back to her cell. Before Javert came, Benoit had said that he was going to compose a love poem on the spot. So, when he got back to Nicole, he said, "Ma chere, I've got a poem. Would you like to hear it?"

"Very well," said Nicole with mock disdain.

Benoit smiled, and began:

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May

"And summer's lease hath all to short a date.

"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines

"And often is his gold complexion dimm'd

"And every fair from fair sometime declines

"By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd.

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

"Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest.

"Not shalt death brag, thou wandr'st in his shade.

"When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

"So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Nicole sighed. "Wow," she said. "You made that up on the spot?"

"Well, not on the spot," laughed Benoit. "It involved a bit of thought."

"That's amazing," she said. "It sounded just like William Shakespeare. Sonnet 18, isn't it? Don't take credit for something that isn't yours."

Benoit gave an easy laugh. "You caught me, mon cherie," he said. "When I read that poem though, it fit you perfectly. You are far better than any summer's day."

"My, what a courtier!" Nicole laughed. "All of this profession of undying love and such. It doesn't really mean anything. It's all fun and games, so to speak."

"Ma couer! Oh, that hurts!"  
"People that constantly speak of love have never felt it."

"And people that don't, do?"

"Some."

"Most especially if they're police inspectors…"

Nicole laughed. "Maybe!"

"Well, I'm almost an inspector."

"But you're not one—why does it matter?"

Benoit made a noise of irritation. "Why does it _matter_? Ugh."

So that night, 'Panchaud' made another visit to Javert.

That night when Javert went to his flat, his apartment door was open. That was quite unusual—he usually made sure to take care of things like that. When he walked over the threshold, someone jumped on him from behind and almost knocked him over, but Javert managed to knock the person off and spin around. Naturally it was Panchaud. Javert tried to take out his pistol, but Panchaud was faster, and held his own gun directly at Javert's face.

"What do you think you've been doing?" said Panchaud.

"I don't know what you mean," Javert said calmly.

"I better never see you on guard duty again."

"On guard duty? In the women's jail, I assume you mean. What were you doing there, 'Panchaud'?"

"You fool. The only reason you're still alive is because of _my_ kindness. Don't test it. If you do, Nicole will be exterminated."

"But she's your 'sister', Panchaud."

Panchaud cocked his pistol. "Don't try to play mind games, 'Inspector'. You don't want to be on my bad side."

"I believe I already am."

"Watch your tongue, Javert," he said, spitting out each word.

"Such animosity towards your superiors, Benoit," said Javert reprovingly, than he gave a barking laugh. "Oh, I mean, 'Panchaud'. My mistake."

Panchaud managed to stop from starting in surprise, and contented himself with staring at Javert in disbelief. How could he have guessed his secret? It was impossible! Maybe he should just kill Javert now. It would solve many problems, at least, though it would cause many more.

He sufficed with saying to Javert, "Who is this 'Benoit'? Who's he? I've never heard of him." He laughed.

"That's funny," said Javert musingly, "because I distinctly remember him talking about you." He obviously had never done such a thing; he had never discussed Panchaud with anyone except M. Chabouillet, but he wanted to see Panchaud's reaction. Panchaud remained impassive. "Yes, Benoit was quite loquacious about you. It sounded like he'd talked to you before."

"That never happened!" said Benoit/Panchaud indignantly. Then he stopped. He had practically given away his cover! "I mean, I think I would've remembered talking to an officer of the law. I mean, of course I would have!"

Javert sighed and walked to the door, followed by Panchaud. "Ah, Panchaud," he said. "You're not a very good criminal, just like Benoit isn't a very good policeman. Both are simply…adequate. That's rather sad, isn't it? I mean, if Benoit is indeed you," he laughed, "I can't imagine how he's managed to get way with that for so long. Ah, well. Won't last for long, so I suppose it's best that you're not him."

He was bluffing, but Panchaud couldn't tell, and he started to fluster a bit. "What…do you mean? I'm sure Benoit is fine," he said. "Sure…surely you're bluffing."

Javert smiled. "Oh, don't worry about him," he said. "After all, you're not Benoit, are you?" Panchaud gave him a murderous look, and began to speak…

**Wow, I have a habit of leaving these Javert-Panchaud conversations unfinished. They all will be though, at a later date. Really! Anyway, review and make me happy!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Voila! Chapter 6! I know this comes after a rather long wait—sorry about that, I had silly essays and such to write. Anyway, thanks to all my kind reviewers—I hope you like this next installment.**

When Raoul saw Javert walking down the street towards his house, he smiled. Though they had different political views, over the eight years that had passed since their first conversation, they had softened towards each other. Now the year was 1823, but little had changed. Nicole was still in prison, and she was still beautiful to everyone but Javert. She saw Javert off and on, but never as often as she would've liked. And now it was December.

Javert reached Raoul's door. He paused a moment before knocking on the door. He had recently turned 43, and had begun to feel as if he were slowly crawling towards old age—it wasn't a happy thought. But he shook off these thoughts—it was no way to look at the future. And besides: he had discovered that Valjean had been caught again a few months ago, so there was naught to worry about. Javert raised his hand to knock on the door, but Raoul opened it first. Raoul's face shocked Javert—he had always seen Raoul as a strong general who was undefeatable, but the man who stood before him looked old and frail, and very sick.

Forgetting the official reason he came, Javert exclaimed, "Monsieur Pontmercy! Are you not well?"

"Ah, Javert, come in," said Raoul, gesturing him inside and leading him into his sitting room. "I am dying. My son, Marius, had never come to see me. I have only caught glimpses of him while in church, and I need to truly see him before I die. I've called him to me, but I don't know if he'll come in time—he has never written me real letters. He does not care for me. Ah, Javert, you're lucky you don't have children. They'll break your heart more than anyone else could."

Javert was silent. This wasn't where he wanted this conversation to go, but he supposed that dying people talk about what they want to, not letting others interrupt them. But to Raoul, he said, "Indeed, Monsieur. But might I suggest that his reluctance to see you has something to do with you keeping your title as Baron?"

Raoul shook his head. "No, you don't understand," he said. "Marius lives with my father—he's the one who is keeping Marius from me. Do you have any idea of how it feels to be kept away from someone you car about?"

"Yes, I do."

The next day Javert received two blows to his day, both from the newspaper. First, he read a note in the obituaries that Raoul Pontmercy had died. He paused for a moment when he read that. In a different situation, Javert thought they could have been friends. But, given the real situation, he simply shook his head and kept reading.

There, in a small paragraph near the bottom of the page, he found he second shock. In this paragraph, an event was described wherein a convict had died saving a soldier. They wrote that the convict's number was 24601, and he was named Jean Valjean. Javert stared at the paper for a moment in disbelief, than smiled. Well, that's the end of that, he thought confidently. Finally, justice had been served.

He closed the paper and stood up to go to the prefecture. Lately he and the officers had been on a rotating schedule, so everyone had to do guard duty once in a while. Today it was Javert's turn. When he got there, he made his usual rounds around the cells. To his surprise, Nicole didn't say anything to him as she passed by, so he looked into her cell. She appeared to be asleep. Satisfied, he continued on his way.

Nicole, in fact, was not asleep. But when she has heard Javert's recognizable footstep coming down the hall, she had lain down and feigned sleep. Lately it had been hard to face him—a year ago she had tried to touch his shoulder to get his attention, but he had backed away, surprised and horrified. The look of disgust Javert had had on his face hurt Nicole immediately. She had forgotten that, as kind as he may be to her in comparison to others, she was still simply a prisoner in his eyes. So after that she had talked less and less to him. But in a way, she felt more hurt than before. When she wouldn't speak to him, it didn't appear to bother him, and he would never volunteer anything to say. So Nicole decided to give up trying to talk to him.

The next time Javert passed her cell, though, she stopped him, saying, "Inspector! I haven't seen you in a while."

"Yes, well, this isn't the only duty I have," he said.

He began to walk away, but Nicole couldn't help but stop him with her babble. "Well, you've missed a good deal of fun," she said. "There have been a few exciting times here. Some people were trying to escape, but they were quite bad at it. It was highly exciting."

"Yes, I'm sure you know the ins and outs of the fine art of escaping," said Javert. "I'm surprised you didn't help them. You've done it before." He was referring to a time a few years ago when Nicole had been linked to the escape of several prisoners. However, nothing had been firmly proven, so she was not apprehended. It had made Javert furious.

"Well, even if that is the case, I'm still here, aren't I? That surely must count for something. Haven't you wondered why I'm still here? I'm sure you know that I have had a thousand chances to leave, but I haven't taken any of them. Have you thought about that?"

"I'm sure I have not, and I don't particularly want to."

"Haven't you ever wondered anything about me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, like why I'm still here when you know I could've escaped. After all, I'm just a convict, unable to do good deeds. Why am I still here?"

"I must say that your reasons don't concern me, so long as you stay here. Now, this conversation is getting quite inane, so I'm leaving."

And he did so. As Nicole watched him walk away with his steady pace, she wished with all her heart that se could tell him the thing that would make his heart melt towards her.

But she had left that part of her far behind her. She had left it when she dyed her hair, ran off with the Gypsies and changed her named. She had long ago decided that, even if it would change Javert, she would not reveal to him her birth name of Rose.

He wouldn't believe her at first, but then she would tell him about the time she had so foolishly mocked him about his job, or lack thereof. Then his eyes would light up in recognition and delight…but no. She wouldn't do that. She would remain Nicole and, perhaps, woo him nonetheless.

Caught up in her reverie, she didn't notice that Javert had stopped at her cell once more.

"Tell me something," he said, and she looked up in surprise. "Is Panchaud your true blood brother, or do you use the term 'brother' simply to imply that he is your 'brother in crime'?"

"Well, of those two choices, the latter would be more accurate, as I'm not related to him," she said. "However, I resent you calling him my brother in crime. I…used to call him that because he would protect me. But now," she shrugged, "I don't know, I haven't seen him in a long time.

Javert came close to rolling his eyes, but instead gripped two of the bars to her cell with his hands. "Don't play innocent with me. I know about the whole Benoit ordeal."

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "The whole Benoit ordeal? What do you mean?"

"My God, don't pretend you don't know! I know that Benoit is Panchaud. I figured it out a while ago, but…I still haven't convinced Chabouillet of it yet."

Nicole stood up, walked to Javert, and put her hands over his, which were still gripping the bars. "Believe me, this is the first time I've heard of this," she said emphatically.

He looked at her with disbelief, than pulled his hands off the bars. "I don't know why you perpetually try and convince me of your ignorance. I've long ago ridden myself of any thought like that which may have come into my head." He snorted. "I have to leave now anyway." And without further ado, he turned heel and left. Shortly she heard the hallway door close behind him.

Suddenly she realized that she was still standing in the same position Javert had left her in: next to the bars, with her hand loosely holding the bars. She lowered them, then slowly turned around and began to walk back to her bed, when she heard laughing from behind her. She whipped around, and saw that it came from the woman sitting in the cell across from her.

Nicole had never heard the woman talk: she had been there when Nicole had originally gone to jail, and quite possibly would be there after she was gone: this woman was one of the forgotten people of the Madelonnettes. And now this anonymous person was laughing at her.

Finally the woman spoke: "I don't know why you keep trying, dearie," she said. "That Javert will never set you free because of any love he may have for you. Even if you did get him to fall in love, he still wouldn't unlock that door for you."

"How do you know?" said Nicole defensively. And how did you know that was my plan? she wondered inwardly.

"Because I was here when he first came here. He was a handsome young man then, believe me." She stopped and sighed. "But his personality was essentially the same as it is now. Dearie, you can't change a man who's been the same all his life."

"But I know a little secret about him."

"And you intend to blackmail him with it?" She laughed. "Oh, I'm sure _that_ will work. He'll fall in love with you and set you free for sure after that."

"I'm not trying to get him to free me. Now, I'm simply trying to get him to look at me as a human being, as opposed to just one of the masses of criminals."

"All the same, good luck, dearie. You'll need it."

**Ming you, at the moment in this story, it's December. That means that New Years is coming soon. Exciting stuff to come!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Have fun with this new chapter!**

It was New Year's Eve, and Javert was on guard duty. He was mightily irritated by this: it wasn't that he has to work on a night like this: he wasn't going to any parties anyway. What was irritating to him was that he had to endure Nicole's constant chatter.

A constant topic she brought up was the fact that it was New Year's, and the raucous times she had had in previous years. Luckily she had finally noticed his lack of comfort with the topic, so she dropped it.

But when it got close to midnight, she became more and more despondent. Finally, she murmured, "Javert?"

"Yes?"

"When midnight comes, would you kiss me?"

"No." he was unsurprised by now about anything Nicole said.

"Can I kiss you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I won't go into that argument again—you know my reasons."

"But I love you."

That surprised him. She must be tired, he thought. Or bored. There's no other reason for her to say that. "Sure you do," he ended up replying.

She began to respond, when the bell began ringing the toll for midnight. Nicole grinned, and walked to the bard of her cell. Javert backed away from her until he hit the bars of the cell on the other side. Then he felt hands on his back—the hands of the woman in that cell—pushing him back to Nicole, who took his wrist gently and tried to pull him towards her. He slapped her hand and jerkily pulled away from her.

"You know not your place, convict," he snapped. "Because I talk to you doesn't mean I regard you with any more affection than any other woman here!" For a moment he wondered if he was really only trying to convince himself of that, but he shook those thoughts off.

Nicole didn't respond, but turned around slowly and walked back to her stone bed. Javert nodded to her retreating back, and then walked away.

The next three months passed painfully slowly whenever Javert was on guard duty—Nicole blatantly ignored him, even when he would make a few comments to her.

At the beginning of March, however, Nicole left his mind entirely, for he heard an interesting story. In one neighborhood, people had noticed one man who dressed like a poor man, but gave beggars money. It sounded suspiciously like something Valjean would do. But he had read that Valjean was dead.

The nest day, he went to the neighborhood in question to see if he could get a glimpse of this rich beggar. He wandered the streets for some time, asking passerbys occasionally if they had seen this person.

It was getting close to dinnertime when Javert finally saw this mystery man. The man handed a coin to a beggar on a street corner, than turned around and began walking to Javert, who had to try with all his might not to gape. It was Valjean, or he would never trust his vision again.

He attempted to recall the wording of the clipping describing Valjean's death. He believed it had said that Valjean had died in some boating accident—Javert supposed it was possible that Valjean had swum, hiding from everyone's view, because after seeing this new man, he knew without a doubt that it was Valjean.

The next evening, Javert sat on that same corner the beggar Valjean had given money to yesterday sat at. Javert had convinced that beggar to let him take his place for the night, threatening him with arrest.

As he waited patiently on the corner, he considered the implications of this possible arrest. If he got Valjean, he could gain acclaim in the eyes of Chabouillet and others, possibly even procuring a promotion.

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming towards him. A person stopped in front of him and dropped a coin the can at Javert's feet. Javert looked up into the face of this man. The moonlight highlighted this familiar visage: it was Valjean, undoubtedly.

However, Valjean seemed to recognize Javert, so he looked down once more, and heard Valjean's footsteps slowly walking away. After waiting some time, he began trailing Valjean back to his home.

When Valjean entered his apartment, Javert waited several minutes before knocking on the door. An old woman opened the door. She peered at Javert curiously.

"Madame, I have reason to believe there is a man of questionable morals residing in you place," he said immediately.

"Ah, it's La Fitte, I'm sure," she said instantly. "He's an odd one, him."

"That's not the same of the man I'm looking for, but it doesn't surprise me that he didn't give his true name." He paused. "Do you have a spare room, by any chance, where I might observe his actions from?"

"I surely do."

The woman showed Javert the room, which was quite satisfactory to his needs. She agreed to tell him of Valjean's actions, and they decided upon a time to meet next evening. Victory was so near, he could almost taste it.

The next evening, when Javert arrived, the woman announced that "La Fitte" had heard them last night and had inquired about the new tenant. "I threw him off the track though, _Inspecteur_," said the woman confidently.

Javert was not so sure, and paced for some time around the empty room he had borrowed, before stopping and looking out on the cold March night. As he contemplated, he suddenly heard the drop of a coin from the room, and furtive rustling noises. Valjean must be trying to flee! he thought.

When he heard furtive steps down the stairs, his guess proved correct. What confused him momentarily was the sound of two sets of footsteps, until he recalled Chabouillet mentioning some troubles in Montfermeil with an innkeeper who made claims that someone had kidnapped his girl servant. Javert had gone there voluntarily, because this girl was the daughter of that whore in Montreuil-sur-mer, Fantine. She was the one Valjean had tried to save, so it stood to reason that, if he were around, he would try to get Fantine's child. But when he arrived in Montfermeil, the innkeeper has refuted the kidnapping story, and instead said it was her grandfather who took the girl. That had ruled out Valjean.

But now Javert supposed the innkeeper could have lied, and that the second pair of footsteps he heard now was the girl. When he began to follow Valjean and saw both Valjean and a small girl, he knew his conjecture was right.

Valjean traveled erratically down the streets, switching sides of the street and backtracking often. He obviously guessed he was being followed. But even when he paused in the occasional doorway, probably thinking himself unseen, Javert was there, hiding behind a tree or anything he could find.

At one point, Javert passed a police post. He stopped in—there were about five policemen around who he managed to hastily recruit to follow in his pursuit of Valjean.

However, when they got outside, Javert couldn't keep track of Valjean. As he argued with one of the men about which direction to go, Valjean was surely getting further and further away.

Finally Javert won the argument by directing one man guard a certain intersection. They progressed slowly down the street Javert was certain Valjean was on. He was almost positive Valjean was on this street, which was excellent—this street led to a dead end, along the wall of some convent. He would be trapped.

Confident in his success, Javert traveled slowly down the street, instructing his men to make sure Valjean was not hiding in some doorway of other such places.

However, to Javert's consternation, once they got to the end of the street, Valjean wasn't there. Javert rushed to the man who had waited at the end of the street, who informed Javert that no one has passed him.

Then he must have climbed over the wall to the convent, thought Javert. That will be an easy place for me to get him out of.

"I am afraid I cannot permit a search of my abbey, _Inspecteur_," said the abbess the next day.

"If all the women were to go into a separate room while my men searched…" Javert began.

"I cannot allow this to happen. I am sorry."

"But there might be a convict within you walls!" he almost shouted. "Isn't this an unusual enough circumstance to make an exception to your rules?" Ordinarily he wouldn't have raised his voice to a woman, and especially not a nun, but this was an unusual instance.

"There is no way I could let you go through with this. Please do not bother us again." With that, the abbess turned and left Javert outside on the street.

He clenched his fists for a moment of two, muttered, "Damn," and left.

**I do apologize for the absurdly long time it took me to get this chapter up. I'm afraid life took me away from the story, though I've had this chapter ready for a while. I shall attempt to be faster in getting the next chapter up, for my lovely and kind reviewers!**


	8. brief update

**I just want to let all my lovely wonderful reviewers know that I am out of town at the moment, and unfortunately have no access to what I've written on another computer, but as soon as I can I will update the next chapter. Till then, bonne chance et lisez beaucoup!**


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